Alien Harvest (aliens)

by Robert Sheckley

  Gill set the clamping system that secured the ship to the bedrock it had settled upon.

  He said, “Last stop, Grand Central Station. All passengers prepare to detrain.”

  Stan unbuckled himself shakily. “Why, Gill, I didn't know you had a sense of humor.”

  “I don't,” Gill said. “My words were for the purpose of helping you and the others keep your spirits up.”

  “Commendable,” Stan said. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the blessed relief of relative silence and no motion. Then he asked, “Everyone okay? Then let's take stock.”

  56

  Red Badger and his people sat together on the semicircular couches that almost filled the main section of the pod. Red had remembered to bring aboard a carton of emergency rations, each in a self-heating aluminoplex container. He passed these around now. Walter Glint had a half-full canteen of raisin wine he'd brewed himself in the ship's locker room, before the hypersleep procedure, using copper tubing he'd liberated from the heat circulation system. He passed around the brew, and Min Dwin came up with some narcosmoke cigarettes. In a little while they were quite a cheerful bunch. If only they'd been able to raise some dance music! It was one hell of a party shaping up.

  Badger liked to party as well as anyone. But the unfamiliar duties of command distracted him from really letting go. He turned to the little all-wave radio receiver tucked away in one of the pod's storage compartments. He needed to keep his people content, because he was counting on them to see him safely through this.

  Although he wouldn't let on to the others, Badger was more than a little disturbed by how things had gone so far. He had counted on seizing the Dolomite in his first attempt, when surprise had been in his favor. Back then, taking the initiative had seemed the thing to do.

  That was not how matters had worked out, however. Now they were alone, isolated on a savage planet that favored no life except alien. Badger had been thinking furiously, trying to find a way to wrest victory from the jaws of defeat.

  Then he thought he had it.

  He set the sweep alarm on the radio to wide scanning and began searching the radio waves. It required no master radio operator to find a signal in a place as barren of radio activity as this one. Red locked onto the signal and began transmitting.

  57

  Adams, the Lancet's radio operator was a tall gangling youth with red hair and a prominent Adam's apple. He came into the main control room without knocking, because Captain Potter had posted standing orders that messages of urgency were to be transmitted at once and without the usual protocol that prevailed on the interstellar ships.

  “Yes, what is it, Adams?” Potter snapped. The captain was tall and strongly constructed. His features were handsome and coarse, from the big knife of a nose to the heavy tufted eyebrows that gave his face a sinister character. He wore a midnight-blue uniform with gold flash marks on the sleeves, showing his years of service in the Interspace Mariners' Association. His voice was low-pitched, harsh, and resonant, the sort of voice you paid attention to the first time you heard it.

  “Radio signal, sir,” Adams said.

  “Is it from the people on the harvester?”

  “No, sir. We still haven't been able to establish contact with them. Their radio doesn't respond. I don't think it looks good, sir.”

  “Nobody gives a damn what you think,” Potter said, his voice dropping to a sawmill rasp. “Who's the message from?”

  “A man who calls himself Red Badger,” Adams said. “He says he's a crewman from the Dolomite.”

  ”Dolomite? Never heard of it. What location did they give?”

  “They're descending to the surface of AR-32, sir.”

  Potter stared at the crewman, eyes narrowed, dark brows creased. “That's quite impossible,” he said at last. “This planet is our exclusive preserve.”

  Adams was about to reply, but perceived just in time that Potter was talking aloud to himself.

  “I'll speak to him;“ Potter said. “Put it through for me.”

  Adams went to the console and made the necessary adjustments. Badger's voice came through on the loudspeaker.

  “Captain Potter? Sir, this is Crewman Badger from the ship Dolomite. Sir, a situation has arisen which I would like to acquaint you with.”

  “Go ahead,” Potter said, and listened carefully as Badger told about the revolt he had led on the Dolomite.

  “We didn't think it was fair, sir, Captain Hoban taking us into an area that was under the exclusive control of Bio-Pharm. The men asked me to speak for them. I talked with Captain Hoban, sir, in fair and reasonable terms, asking him to get a ruling from Bio-Pharm before taking us into this area. Can't say more reasonable than that, can I, sir? But Captain Hoban didn't see it that way. He ordered me and my men put into irons and held to face criminal charges back on Earth. We didn't agree, there was a fight, and me and some of the men came down to the planet.”

  “You're on the surface of AR-32 now?” Potter asked.

  “Yes, sir. And we're not the only ones. There's a Dr. Myakovsky down here, too, in his own pod, sir. He's come to this place to steal your royal jelly. He and Hoban are criminals, and they want to put us on charges!”

  “That's very interesting,” Potter said. “Do you happen to have their exact location?”

  “I'm afraid not, sir, since me and my mates had to leave ship in a hurry, so to speak. But I'll bet anything they're heading for the hive, where they sent that robot of theirs.”

  “What robot are you referring to?”

  “The one they call Norbert. Looks just like an alien, sir, only it's not a real one. There's a law against that, isn't there? The damned thing already killed some of my shipmates.”

  “There's a law against it, all right,” Potter muttered. “My law, if no other!”

  “Beg pardon, sir?”

  “Never mind. What is this robot supposed to do?”

  “Collect royal jelly, sir. And leave an electronic trail showing Myakovsky where to go.”

  “Damn it!” Potter sputtered. “They could get what they came for and be out of here before we could stop them.”

  “No, sir,” Badger said. “I've heard them talking to Captain Hoban on the radio. They plan to get through the hive by following an electronic signal that their robot is to lay down for them. But if me and my mates was to wipe out that electronic trail …”

  “I like the idea of that,” Potter said slowly. “Can you do it? You would be rendering me a valuable service.”

  “Indeed we can, sir. We're hoping it'll be taken into consideration when you pick us up. You are going to rescue us, aren't you, sir?”

  “You can count on it,” Potter said. “There could be a reward in this for you. Does that sound good, Mr. Badger? Get in there and wipe out that trail. Then come to coordinates 546Y by 23X. We'll rendezvous with you there. You men will be rewarded for your good work.”

  “Thank you, sir! You'll be hearing from us soon.”

  The transmission ended. Potter turned to Adams. “Well, what are you standing around for? Get back to the radio room! And not a word of this to the crew, or I'll have your hide!”

  “Yes, sir!” Adams saluted smartly and backed out of the room.

  Potter waited until he was gone, then looked around the control room. The only ones present were his chief engineering officer, Ollins, and the helmsman, Driscoll.

  “Driscoll,” Potter snapped.

  “Sir?”

  “You've heard nothing of this.”

  “No, sir!”

  “You can take a break now, mister. Ollins and I will finish out your watch.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Driscoll saluted and left the control room.

  Lieutenant Ollins was a grizzled old veteran of many space flights who had served with Potter before. In fact, the two men came from the same town in Tennessee. Ollins relaxed when Driscoll was away from the control room. Potter afforded him great privileges when none of the men were around. When
they were, it was spit and polish and punctilio all the way, because that was the sort of man Potter was.

  “Well, Tom,” Potter said. “Seems we've got a bit of a situation on our hands.”

  “Seems so, sir,” Ollins said. “But unless I miss my guess …”

  “Yes? Go ahead, Tom.”

  “Unless I miss my guess, sir, you've thought up an interesting way to take care of it.”

  Potter permitted himself a smile. “I don't know if I'd say 'interesting', Mr. Ollins. But 'thorough'… Yes, I think you'll find my way very thorough.”

  58

  Rain hammered against the pod's hatch like shot from a battery of shotguns. The pod quivered and shook as the storm shrieked and swore to itself, its voice falling to a whisper then rising to a banshee wail. Stan and the others were suited up in all-weather outfits that would give them some protection against the elements, though not much against the aliens. It was time to go.

  “Okay,” Stan said. “Julie, you feel up to this?”

  “I'm perfectly ready for a stroll,” Julie said airily. “It's just about sunset, isn't it?”

  “Yes,” Gill said. “I've checked out the hive on remote sensing. The activity is reaching a peak.”

  “A perfect time for us to drop in,” Julie said.

  Stan felt a warm glow go through him when he looked at her. She was young, beautiful, and very brave. They were in about as difficult a situation as he could imagine, but she wasn't giving in a bit to it.

  He turned to Gill. “What weapons do we have?”

  Gill opened a locker and showed what he had brought. “Five chemical slugthrowers with fifty slug clips. These are somewhat old-fashioned weapons, but they are reliable. And their fifty-caliber slugs pack a wallop. I brought three Gauss needlers. They're recoilless, and their steel slivers ought to have a good effect against the aliens. I was only able to bring one Gyroc, and a bandolier of point seventy-five-caliber spin-stabilized rockets. Two high-impulse laser rifles, both fully charged, and that completes the arsenal, except for half a dozen concussion grenades. I would have liked a greater selection, but that was all that was available at the moment.”

  “You have done admirably,” Stan said. “That's quite an array.”

  “And, of course, I also have the light tracker, a heavy-duty communicator. As well as the suppressors to get us past the aliens undetected.”

  “Very important, that last,” Stan said. “What range do the inhibitors have?”

  “They'll dampen at close to one-hundred-percent strength for approximately three meters in all directions.”

  “And how long will they last?”

  “That's the bad part,” Gill said. “They may be good for half an hour at full strength, but it could be less.”

  “Well, we'll just have to move quickly and hope we have some luck. Julie, have you reached Captain Hoban yet?”

  “Just getting him now.” Julie spoke into her wrist enunciator. “Can you hear me, Hoban?”

  “Loud and clear,” Hoban's voice came back to them. “I was beginning to worry. What happened to you people?”

  “Nothing good,” Julie said. “But we're on AR-32 and we're still alive and in one piece. Three pieces, I should say.”

  “What are your plans?” Hoban asked.

  Julie turned to Stan. He said, “We have to get out of the pod, Captain. The storm is shaking it to pieces. What news do you have about your mutiny?”

  “The mutineers grabbed our backup lander and took off for AR-32. It'll be a miracle if they weren't destroyed on their way down.”

  “A miracle for us if they were,” Stan said. “Captain, we have our suppressors and there's only one thing we can try that'll bring this off. We're going to go through the hive, following Norbert's trail. That'll get us out of the storm, which will destroy us otherwise. We should be able to follow Norbert's trail to the far side, where the harvester is. We'll board that and come up to you. You, meanwhile, will take geosynchronous orbit at the harvester's coordinates. I'm transmitting those coordinates digitally. Please acknowledge.”

  Stan's fingers flew over the computer's keys. Soon he heard Captain Hoban's acknowledgment. “I've got it, Dr. Myakovsky.”

  “Good. What do you think of the plan, Captain?”

  “It seems to me the best, given the circumstances. Does Gill concur?”

  The android nodded. “There's really nothing else to do,” he added in a quiet voice.

  “It's perfect,” Julie said. “What have we got to lose but our lives?”

  “Signing off, then, Captain,” Stan said. “See you in an hour or so, I hope.”

  He turned to Gill. “Have you any objections?”

  “As I said, Doctor, given the circumstances, there's nothing else to do.”

  “But you wouldn't have gotten us into this fix in the first place. Is that it?”

  “I didn't say that, sir.”

  “You didn't have to.” Stan looked out the port at the lurid sunset that had just begun flaming behind the upthrust bulk of the hive. He reached into an inner pocket and brought out a small aluminum case, like a cigar case only slightly larger. Opening it, he extracted an ampoule of royal jelly.

  “Well,” he said, “time for a little ride down the street of dreams, eh?” He looked at Gill and Julie, who were watching him. “I need it,” he said defensively. “It's the pain….” Abruptly he pulled himself together. He returned the ampoule to the case and put the case back in his pocket.

  “No, I'll do it straight,” Stan said. “That ought to be ever so much more amusing. Ready, then? Gill, crack the port!”

  Gil undogged the hatch. It took his and Julie's combined strength to push it all the way open against the wind pressure. And then it was done, and the three of them staggered out into the raging storm.

  59

  There was no easy way to hold a conversation as Stan, Julie, and Gill made their painful march across the wind-whipped plain toward the great rounded mound of the hive. Behind it the sunset flared, sending streamers and columns of radiance around the basalt-blue solid-looking clouds that seemed to march across the plain like giants.

  Julie looked at the sunset in awe. She did not consider herself a nature lover, yet this kindling of shapes and colors that seemed too intense to be natural almost brought tears to her eyes. The display touched off a memory.

  She was a little girl in the high, carven house of Shen Hui. It was one of his holiday houses in Shan Lin Province, and there was a pool in the garden in which golden carp moved back and forth, and a wind chime in a nearby temple sent forth a sad melody that seemed to speak of ancient days and old-fashioned manners.

  It was only then that Julie thought of her mother, whom she had never known, but who visited her almost nightly in dreams whose memory she lost upon awakening.

  They walked for a long time, bent into the driving wind, and came at last to the base of the hive. Looking up at the great, pitted, gray-brown surfaces covered with branchlike vines, Stan saw that it resembled some exotic plant. It was pockmarked with puckered holes, many of which were large enough to admit a man. Stan wondered if the hive might not be an organism in its own right, symbiotically connected to the aliens, coexisting with its own weird life-forms.

  It was an interesting fancy, but Stan thought it was more logical to assume that the aliens had constructed the hive, following instinctual instructions laid down in their DNA aeons past.

  Still, it pleased his fancy to imagine that the hive and the aliens were two different types of living matter. What a startling possibility! He could see the headlines now, heralding his discovery….

  He smiled wryly and reminded himself that his only job now was to stay alive, to keep on going until he could find the pure and unadulterated royal jelly that might extend his life — if there was any truth to his conjectures.

  He and Julie walked around the hive until they found an opening. It loomed ahead of them, a dark and ragged hole that plunged into the depths of the hive.
>
  “Are you ready for this?” Stan asked. Gill didn't answer. Julie said, “If that's where you want to go, I'll go with you.”

  60

  There seemed no way into the hive. They found what looked like a pathway that spiraled up its side.

  They climbed up the long, narrow ramp that looked to be part roadway, part vine. It went up the side of the hive in long sloping curves, and there were rough-barked vinelike things along the side that served as handholds, and other things that looked like snapped-off tree limbs and might have provided footholds for taloned feet.

  Using these as handholds, they half hiked, half climbed, up the side of the hive. The storm was still buffeting them, its wind gusts swirling in from all directions. The slanted rain made the footing slick and unsafe. When Julie was able to spare a glance to the side, she saw the great plain of AR-32 spread out below, all bathed in strange red-and-violet sunset colors, cut through here and there with deep, black fissures.

  She was leading the way, with Stan in the middle and Gill bringing up the rear. Stan was short of breath already, and Julie, listening to him labor as he walked, decided it didn't augur well for the future.

  She was worried about Stan, but he had gotten them into this situation. She just hoped he was well enough and sane enough to get them out of it.

  Then they reached an opening camouflaged against the side of the hive by a dense growth of vines. They pushed inside and found a broad roadway that curved inward and upward.

  The spiraling roadway terminated in a wide opening that seemed to lead deeper into the hive. Julie was less than ten feet away from the opening when something within it, a darkness against the darkness, stirred and moved.

  She whispered, “Oh, shit,” and froze.